The 75th Quarter Quell
by Nowhore-Is-Safe
Summary: An image than popped into my head of the District 1 and 2 babies running around with swords and axes hacking off dummies heads. No, they wouldn't do that. Wait… would they…? God I really am messed up.


**Disclaimer—We do not own any of the Hunger Games. Just this plot. And if we did well, that'd be awesome!**

**Chapter 1 - The Reaping - Carlina's P.O.V**

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We were standing in the line with our arms linked, waiting to get our fingers pricked by the peacekeepers. I stepped up letting go of my sister's arm and held out my hand, wincing slightly when she pricked my finger. To my left, I heard Rosemeda mutter, "You like my pain. Don't you?" under her breath when she got her finger pricked, and I tried to muffle my laughter with coughs.

"Really?" I asked when we were walking to the roped off area of the other fifteen year olds, our arms linked yet again.

For the fourth time in my whole life, I was standing in position in front of the Justice Building, wishing, hoping, _praying_, that it wasn't going to be me on that temporary stage.

I hated this part of the year, it's the time when people shut their windows and don't open up to people. It's when selling a simple squirrel to a buyer can be insanely dangerous, and life threatening. It's when children can be picked up and condemned to a possibly painful death. And in rare cases, spared. Not because the people that took them feel bad, but because they had to fight,had to_ kill_, just so that they could go home and see their families.

The rules are simple. In punishment for what happened 75 years ago, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl, and one boy (tributes) to participate. The 24 tributes are imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena of the Capitol's choice, the inside of the arena can range from a burning dessert to a frozen waste land. Over time, the tributes must fight to the death, with the last tribute being the victor of The Hunger Games.

How the tributes are picked goes like this, once you are 12 you are eligible to be a tribute. It works like this, when you're 12 your name is entered in a bowl with other possible tributes once, and through the years it's entered once more every time. Additionally, you can get a tesserae. A tesserae is a ration of grain and oil that will last you a year. But your name is added an additional one time for each member of your family, so if you had three members of your family (like me) and you got a tesserae for each of them, along with the mandatory one per year, by the time your 18 your name would be in 28 times. Making it more likely to be 'volunteered' for the Hunger Games.

Rosemeda and I each got a tesserae together every year, so our family got two each. We each had our names in 16 time. 32 all together.

If you got picked, you were picked up and shipped off on a fancy high-speed Capitol train to the Capitol itself, to compete with 23 other tributes. Upon arriving there, you were taken to the re-make center. Where you were... re-made. The prep teams that are assigned to you scrub away dirt and grime, brush out their hair, and basically re-make them into models.

I remember seeing my brother on T.V during his interview after his prep team had gotten to him... It was the most terrifying moment of my life, because I thought they had changed his mind, to.

And, this year was different. This year was The 75th Quarter Quell.

Every twenty-five years there's a Quarter Quell edition of the Games. Quarter Quells mark the anniversary of the districts' defeat by The Capitol, and include 'special', celebrations. The Games involves some sort of twist that makes them more disastrous or difficult to compete in, and watch. Every year the President would go on T.V and give specific instructions for each Quarter Quell. These instructions were planned at the founding of the Hunger Games, with plans in place for most likely, hundreds, of Games. The President announces the theme of that year's Quell. It's not known how many Quarter Quells were planned ahead of time.

The sound of my sisters voice broke through my reverie, -"I just think that they shouldn't make us feel pain, when we might end up feeling it when we get reaped."

"It'll be fine Rose, we wont get reaped," I paused and let a small strained smile appear on my face, "And even if we do, remember? Andria said we would have to go on stage 'in style.'"

Our older sister was an achieved sewer and had designed our outfits for the reaping, Alexandria had said, "If you get reaped, you're going onto that stage in style, I will not, I repeat will_ not_, have my little sisters looking like homeless people," to which I replied with, "We're practically homeless anyways." She just waved off my comment like I hadn't said anything.

My dress was a strapless jean dress cinched at my waist and came down to my knees, and Rosemeda's a spaghetti strap low cut light green dress that was just below her knees. So as to not drag up any soot on the ground.

The space around us is filling in fast, with more 15 years old arriving. It's getting claustrophobic.

The people around me are looking at each other, exchanging nervous smiles, an some staring at the stage with a stony face.

The stage isn't anything grand, it holds three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls. One of which I was staring at. That glass ball had the name Carlina Mellie written on 16 pieces of paper. And on another 16, the name Rosemeda Mellie.

Two of the chairs were filled with Mayor Undersee, a tall, balding man who I sold some of my game to, and Effie Trinket. District 12's escort, freshly primped with her creepy, pearly white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit. They're muttering to each other and looking at the empty seat with furrowed brows.

Just when the clock strikes two, mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and starts to read. Every year he tells the same story, of how the country rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, and the brutal war for what sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol lined by thirteen districts. Which brought 'peace' and 'prosperity' to its citizens.

Then came the Dark Days. The uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated and the thirteenth was obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us new laws to guarantee that the Dark Days never be repeated. Thus, came the Hunger Games.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

Next, he reads the list of past Hunger Games victors. Which is two people, one of which is dead. Yes, in the last seventy-five years we've had exactly two victors.

Haymitch Abernathy is our victor, a paunchy, middle aged man, who is 99.9% drunk and hollering something unintelligible whilst staggering onto the stage. My eyes follow him as he staggers the rest of the way across the stage and falls into the third chair. The crowd responds with the common applause, but it's clipped and choppy. But he's confused, and apparently trying to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she just manages too fend off.

Mayor Undersee looks distressed, with lines forming on his forehead. Since this is being televised, District 12 is now the laughing stock of Panem. He's trying to take the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Effie Trinket, as pink and happy as ever practically _trots_ over to the podium and gives the usual, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

But the thing is, The odds have _never_ been in our favor.


End file.
